I think I have an Existential Crisis

So, what to do next?

Bob Dylan puts it nicely…

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, “Who is that man ?”
You try so hard
But you don’t understand
Just what you’ll say
When you get home.

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You raise up your head
And you ask, “Is this where it is ?”
And somebody points to you and says
“It’s his”
And you says, “What’s mine ?”
And somebody else says, “Where what is ?”
And you say, “Oh my God
Am I here all alone ?”

But something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, “How does it feel
To be such a freak ?”
And you say, “Impossible”
As he hands you a bone.

And something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To all give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations.
You’ve been with the professors
And they’ve all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You’ve been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books
You’re very well read
It’s well known.

But something is happening here
And you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, “Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan”.

And you know something is happening
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Now you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word “NOW”
And you say, “For what reason ?”
And he says, “How ?”
And you say, “What does this mean ?”
And he screams back, “You’re a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home”.

Because something is happening
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin’ around
You should be made
To wear earphones.

Does something is happening
And you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Just Shoot for the Impossible

The one time I really tried positive psychology to achieve a goal, it actually worked.

This was the fall of 2007, the world was rosier and the future seemed brighter.  I had started at an elite practice group within a mediocre consulting firm.  A selected few were invited to join this practice;  I ended up as the only girl.

I thought I was on top of the world, albeit nervously looking around.  I was making good money, wearing good cloth, and strutting my way down Midtown Manhattan everyday in carefully selected business casual.  The smell of the subway, the greeting of the receptionist, the sound of the elevator bell and the smell of lunch delis are the memories of a period so filled with misery and yet promise. 

I imagined challenging dilemmas to be handed to me on a plate, begging for me to solve.  But alas, the real world hit me quick and hit me hard.  3 months into the job and I was still sitting on the bench.  As a student who rarely slept before 2am for the past four years, including summer, stuffing herself with classes and activities, this new found sense of nothing was practically suicidal.

At one point, I was the only person not staffed on a project.  And what would you think when one of your bosses makes politically incorrect comments, another one has a tendency to avoid eye contact with you (and only you) while the rest of your co-workers bonded over sports and rock music (neither subject you could care less about)? 

There is always that fine line between blaming yourself for not reaching out enough, and blaming the world for sexism – I was trying to pick which side of the line should I stand on so I could feel a bit less miserable, and I couldn’t decide.  

And so I decided to try positive psychology.  Positive psychology doesn’t come to me naturally because business people are not startup dreamers - we under promise and over deliver, we expect the worse despite shotting for the best.

To reenact positive psychology, I decided to repeat in my head countless times every day that I am going to become the star player of my team, that I am going to get on amazing projects and peform better than anyone else.  And I also became unbelievably optimistic in manner and practice – despite blatant realities starring at me on the contrary.  People noticed my unfailing personality and once things got rolling, I was on a roll with it.  

Long story short – I did end up ”utilized.”  Soon, one boy from our group of starters left, and eventually, I moved on to a better firm while another got sacked.  The third boy went on to graduate school and the fourth one is still stuck in limbo. Long story short – I ended up well. I ended up well might sound easy now, but it was practically a dream back then, that what I really believed would have never happened had I not “pretended,” which later really led me to believe that I am indeed better. I deserve better and thus received better. 

I want all of you to shoot for the impossible. Because as Adidas would say, “Impossible is Nothing.”

Eatery – Italian – Frankies 17

Frankies 17 is my favorite Italian restaurant situated in my favorite neighborhood, the Lower East Side.

It is your quintessential casual Italian eatery, but don’t think street corner pizza or greasy meatball casual -think elegant cafe on a cobbled stoned street in Rome.

The restaurant is decadent with small chairs and tables (seats only 27 people), the atmosphere is simple and dim and the the room is always packed but never obnoxiously so. The bartender and waitress usually give intelligent recommendations.

Frankies 17 has got a creative menu of great and surprisingly healthy choices – from sweet potato stuffed raviolo in parmesan soup, a prosciutto and cheese sampler , grilled vegetable salad, hearty spicy sausage pasta, to the most interesting dessert made of plum.

The icing on the cake is that they’ve got a great selection of affordable wine – about 70 from the list. I enjoyed my $45/bottle red so much that I actually copied down the name and intend on buying it later for myself.

If you want to spend $50 (wine, appetizer/dessert, and entree) but feel like you ate a $100 dinner – come to Frankies.

Frankies 17:

17 Clinton Street
New York, NY 10002
(212) 253-2303

Hipster Waster

A lot of people get lost in life because mainstream society doesn’t appeal to their tastes. The only alternative, some find, is to become a hipster.  I thought I was a hipster until I realized I can’t afford to be one.

Definition of a Hipster: One who possesses tastes, social attitudes, and opinions deemed cool by the cool. Note: it is no longer recommended that one use the term “cool”; a Hipster would instead say “deck.”

In college I disliked sororities and hanged out with people who are into art history, literary criticism and Bob Marley. Naturally, I thought I knew hipster.  Then I moved to Brooklyn and the meaning hipster jumped to a whole new level.  Like everything else in life, I find myself half-mesmorized and half-grossed out by the hipster scene. 

Hipsters are like white boys fom New Jersey: they love to rap and pretend they are gangsters from the hood.  Hipsters buy $30 t-shirts from American Apparel when the same shirt can be bought from Target for less than $9.99.  But hipsters will never be caught dead wearing something from Target.  Hipsters also wear cloth usually worn by manual laborers. But hipsters do not have the strength to lift anything heavy, because their body fat is usually less than 2%.

Hipsters consider themselves very open-minded.  But in reality they mock everything.  They think anyone with the slightest talent or reputation sucks, and they have an opinion (usually negative) on every subject.  Hipsters like to ”appropriate the culture in an ironic way.” In reality, hipsters have few nonwhite friends aside from the token few who grew up in predominately white neighborhoods anyways. Hipsters sometimes talk like they are Black or from a foreign country, that becomes especially annoying to people who are actually Black or from a foreign country. Hipsters sometimes tell racist jokes because they think it’s obvious that they are not racists and thus have the right to tell these jokes. But really, that makes them racists.  

Hipsters love black music, but many will not date a black person, especially a black girl (though they will never admit this, they just ”happen” to fall in love with someone else who “happen” to be white).   

Hipsters live in the trendiest parts of Brooklyn, but they never work or are willing to work for free.  They hate to admit that their hedge fund dad (or inheritance from grandmother) pays for everything.

But still I love hipsters, though I think they are privileged and misguided at times, and sometimes a bit conceited and foolish. But aren’t we all, compared to some child without education living in a war-torn nation?

Time is Running Out

One of the most valuable lessons I have learned in New York is to stop envying what I don’t have or haven’t yet become.

It may seem counter-intuitive since the city is practically built on materialism (think banking), but keeping up with the Jones’s in a place like New York will surely drive anyone insane, depressed, or at the very least, jaded of life.

New York has the best of every kind: the most beautiful girl will inevitably find someone twice as beautiful, not to mention 2 years younger, and the smartest guy will find someone making more money and getting more recognition.

Some say they come to New York wanting to be the best, but wanting to be the best is an impossible task in here. Instead, people come to New York end up finding who they are. It is here that I have found the purpose of my voice and the utility of my skills (and if I don’t quite have them, where should I go to get it?) 

I had a quarter life crisis characterized by a panicky feeling because some of my peers are doing so much more than me, because  other peers are either hoping into graduate school or hoping into marriage, because at such a young age, I have this unexplainable feeling like time is running out.  One day I woke up and realized I am no longer looking for the future, the future is here, and the dreams I once had and the realities I am facing now just don’t quite match up. 

And instead of chasing after the things I can’t have or haven’t yet become, I decide to change. Because change is what brings down stalemate, because failures happen to everyone and the most important thing is to get up. More importantly, change is watching other people’s mistakes and don’t make them myself. And change, of course, is sometimes just showing up. 

So when the perception of my life screams time is running out and other people are ahead of me, I’m thinking about the following: 

1. Give myself some more time; some people do it fast, but I do it better. 

2. Stop living lavishly and focus on the soul.  

3. Have a disciplined lifestyle with a routine.

4. Study, and read, a lot. 

5. Get new friends, reconnect with the lost ones.

6. Travel somewhere. 

7. Change my job, completely. 

8. Learn a new language.

9. Stay on high alert so that when chances arrive, I am 100% prepared.

10. Figure out, and go for it, one step at a time.